


so familiar a gleam

by sariane



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comic Book Science, Dreaming, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychic Abilities, Spells & Enchantments, Tony Stark Hates Magic, cliche 'asgardian magic spell' plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve develops temporary psychic abilities and accidentally wanders his way into Bucky's dreams. All he wants is to convince Bucky to come <i>home</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so familiar a gleam

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [熟悉的微光](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6174997) by [Juliana24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliana24/pseuds/Juliana24)



> This is a somewhat improved version of a prompt fill originally posted [here](http://sarriane.tumblr.com/post/93935251105) on tumblr for [this meme](http://sarriane.tumblr.com/post/93912899280). Thanks to [tushmore](http://tushmore.tumblr.com/) for the prompt: 11. Meet in a Dream – Steve/Bucky. :)
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this, although it became a lot longer than I expected. Enjoy!
> 
> This story is set a few months after Cap 2 and contains some spoilers. Title from "Once Upon A Dream" from Disney's Sleeping Beauty.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> -Light canon-typical violence  
> -Mention of Winter Soldier brainwashing stuff   
> -Swearing  
> -Terrible comic book science

_Oh, god, not like this._

Steve cries out as the searing white light finally fades from his vision. It leaves spots at the edge of his sight, and an ache in his muscles and his mind.

 _Amora_ —

He slumps over onto the blacktop of the city street, trying to catch his breath. All around him, he hears people chattering, screaming, a cacophony of voices over the sound of fighting. Steve presses a hand to his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It feels like he’s _burning_.

“Steve,” Tony says, appearing at his side.

“Amora—“ Steve starts, his throat raw and voice harsh. It’s as though he’s been screaming. Tony gives Steve a long look, eyes drifting over him to check for injuries. Steve cranes his neck to look around. The street is empty but for rubble, with no trace of Amora or her Executioner friend.

"Taken care of,” Tony says flippantly, like a pair of rabid, evil Asgardians is the least of his problems. “She hit you with some spell – are you okay? _God_ , you have to be; I’m not losing anyone else.”

Steve’s head snaps up, despite how it’s aching. He squints at Tony – it’s not like him to speak that way out loud. Not to Steve.

“Tony,” Steve says carefully, measuring his voice, “you’re not going to lose anyone else. We aren’t losing anyone.”

Tony gapes at him for a long moment before he turns away and swears.

“Shit,” Tony says. He turns on the group comms in the Iron Man helmet and says, “Looks like Amora hit Cap with some kind of psychic ray. He can hear our thoughts. Keep it PG, guys, and someone call Xavier.”

 _There’s no fucking way I’m calling Strange,_ Tony continues in what Steve assumes is his inner monologue, since he doesn’t see Tony’s mouth move. Tony looks back down at Steve, still curled up on the pavement.

“What do you have against Doctor Strange?” Steve asks curiously. Tony frowns.

“Oh, god,” Tony groans, “you really _can_ read my mind.” _This is going to end badly,_ he adds mentally, _don’t think about sex. Don’t think about –_

Steve scrunches up his face a moment later.

“Is that position physically possible?” Steve asks with a considering look. Tony rolls his eyes and holds out a hand to help Steve up.

“Oh, boy,” Tony smirks as he pulls Steve to his feet, “ _this_ is gonna be fun.”

*

It isn’t fun. At _all._

At first, it isn’t that bad, just noisy. Steve can’t make out individual voices in the crowd of onlookers that the police have been holding back from the fight against Amora. He doesn’t want to try.

Tony doesn’t hesitate in flying them back to Avengers Tower. His mind wanders as he carries Steve towards the helipad, providing Steve with strings of numbers, theories, and snippets of scientific nonsense. Steve tries hard not to listen, but the thoughts are broadcasted into his head like they’re coming through a loudspeaker.

The moment Steve steps into the common room with the other Avengers, the cacophony of voices fades out, replaced with just a few.

It’s almost _worse._

_–Come on, Hulk, take a little nap, let Bruce out to play, please? –_

_–The fault is mine, I should have dealt with Amora long ago–_

_–Try not to think about Coulson’s junk. Try not to think about Coulson’s junk. Try not to think about Coulson’s humongous–_

_–Then there’s got to be some kind of new energy that’s enabling his brain to pick up messages, and if we can find and extract it—_

_–Mary had a little lamb, her fleece was white as snow. And everywhere – fuck it, I can’t remember that one. The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out_ –

“SHUT UP!” Steve yells, clapping his hands over his ears and screwing his eyes shut at the voices shouting inside his head.

“Captain—“ Thor starts as he steps forwards.

Steve looks up. The Avengers stand frozen in front of him in a concerned circle, a litany of _oh god – is he okay – can I block him out – what if he loses it_ replaying in his mind.

“Sorry,” Steve sighs. He looks at the ground for a moment, taking a long, deep breath. “Can everyone take a few steps back, please?” he asks, looking up again, “The closer you get, the louder it is.”

They cast him a variety of looks before they disperse– suspicion, pity, worry – every emotion amplified through their thoughts. He can _feel_ Bruce’s anger, Thor’s guilt, and the concern that Tony is trying to hide. Steve watches as Natasha retreats to the farthest corner of the room, still repeating nursery rhymes and song lyrics in her head, and Clint joins her, leaning against the wall with crossed arms.

 _Xavier’s on his way down from his school,_ Tony thinks purposely as his earpiece informs him that JARVIS has called Professor X, the psychic, for them.

“Thanks, Tony, ” Steve says without thinking. Clint openly winces.

“That’s kind of creepy,” Clint volunteers. Tony opens his mouth to bicker back.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to tune out the sounds of _But_ _Hulk’s thoughts are Hulk’s_ , _Don’t be an asshole Barton, Who’s strong and brave here to save the American waaaay?_

Even then, he can hear other thoughts, muffled from distance. There are 10 floors, maybe 15 between the Avengers and the nearest Stark Industries employees – a receptionist who’s worried about her girlfriend and a janitor whose shift is ending in ten minutes, and then he can go out drinking with the boys and –

“Call me when Xavier’s here. I’m going to go to my room,” Steve says weakly, ignoring the concerned looks that follow him out of the common room. He just needs to lie down for a few minutes. That’s all.

*

The apartment he finds himself in is small and run down, not unlike any of the places Steve has lived in before.

He stares up at the ceiling, tracing water stains with his eyes before he realizes it _is_ one of the old apartments he’d lived in, back in…1939? He and Bucky shared the place for a few months, their first apartment, until the landlord caught Bucky with his daughter and—

Speak of the devil. The door opens and Bucky swings in, looking young and _happy._ Steve’s heart aches to see him like this. He hasn't seen him since the Helicarrier.

“Honey, I’m home,” Bucky laughs, shutting the door behind him.

“Shut up, I’m not your housewife,” Steve frowns. His scowl draws another laugh out of Bucky.

“Are the kids all tucked in?” Bucky teases as he shucks his shoes off by the front door. Steve sits up on the bed. He’s too big for it, for once. He’s _never_ big enough in these memories.

“No, they take after their father, they’re stubborn as hell,” Steve huffs. It draws another laugh out of Bucky.

Bucky skips over to the bed and pushes Steve back onto it, roughhousing a little as he always did. Steve knows they’ll wrestle on the bed next, until Steve whacks Bucky with a pillow and Bucky lets him win, or Steve feels himself begin to wheeze.

Bucky always was rough with him, but gentle at the same time. Steve privately thought that Bucky didn’t want to treat Steve like he was made of glass, but was still afraid of breaking him.

Bucky pins Steve down onto the mattress with ease, even though Steve’s bigger than him now, and Steve braces himself for the punch.

Instead, Bucky leans down and presses his lips against Steve’s.

_“Hey – hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up.”_

*

“Bucky?” Steve mutters as he opens his eyes. He blinks at the head swimming over him, but it’s Tony, not Bucky.

_Did he seriously mistake me for a lethal cyborg assassin? Hey, two out of three ain’t bad._

Right. He was dreaming.

“Sorry,” Steve says, sitting up hastily from his couch. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“You were in someone else’s mind,” Charles Xavier says from the other side of the room.

Steve starts. He hadn’t realized Professor X had arrived. None of the other Avengers are there when he looks. Steve almost breathes a sigh of relief.

“I asked them to keep their distance when I arrived,” Xavier says, wheeling his wheelchair across the carpet. Steve expects to hear his thoughts as well, but there’s nothing but Tony’s inner voice in his head. He figures that Xavier is guarding his mind.

“Right,” Steve says, holding out his hand to shake Xavier’s. “Thank you for coming,” he says politely.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Xavier says with a friendly smile. “Mr. Stark has briefed me on the situation. It seems Amora’s spell has given you temporary psychic powers. Although,” Xavier says with a sideways glance at Tony, “I’m not sure why he hasn’t called Stephen Strange – this is much more his forte.”

 _So is fucking_ magic _, that’s why. And don’t you dare tell anyone I said that, Rogers._

Tony looks away awkwardly when Steve bites back a smile. Xavier doesn’t miss it, though.

“So, you can hear Tony’s thoughts,” Xavier says with consideration. “You won’t be able to hear mine, and Miss Romanoff says she believes she has been able to keep you out by repeating nursery rhymes. Is this true?”

“For the most part,” Steve says. “I haven’t really tried to push.”

“Except, of course, in your sleep,” Xavier says. When Steve’s brow furrows in confusion, Xavier continues. “As soon as I entered your room, I could tell that a part of you was absent from your body. Your consciousness was far away, visiting the mind of another. It seems you… _wandered_ during your sleep. Who were you dreaming about?”

Steve feels Tony’s eyes on him.

 _It was Bucky, wasn’t it,_ Tony thinks, not a question. _Well, shit. That sucks._

“…An old friend,” Steve says hesitantly, drawing his eyes away from Tony. “I don’t know where he is. Do you think he’s nearby?” he asks, a spark of hope burning in his chest.

“I cannot be sure,” Xavier says, to Steve’s disappointment. “What was the nature of this dream?” he asks. Steve refuses to blush.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says.

“Was it a fantasy?” Xavier prompts, “An entirely new world, or something more familiar? A memory? A wish? A random scenario?”

 _A sex dream?_ Tony adds unhelpfully.

“It was a memory,” Steve answers, mouth going dry. He swallows.

“Then we don’t have to worry that your consciousness will become trapped somewhere else,” Xavier says with relief, although Steve doesn’t know how he can tell. “Perhaps you were thinking of this person as you were drifting off, or you began to dream about them. Whatever prompted it, you must have unconsciously sought out their mind and made contact. They must have been dreaming as well.”

“Can you tell me anything else?” Steve asks. “Could I…use this to find that person?” (He ignores Tony’s mental input of, _Oh, shit._ )

“I’m not sure how you would,” Xavier says apologetically. “Dreams exist entirely in the mind. It is very difficult to interpret them. The fact that you’ve been able to tap into a specific person’s consciousness, no matter the distance, is very impressive. Whatever spell has been cast upon you, it is quite powerful. Powerful enough to turn unconscious desires, to find this person, into actions.”

Steve swallows.

“How long will it last?” he asks.

For a heavy moment, Xavier glances over at Stark, and Steve holds his breath.

“I’m afraid this is where my expertise ends,” Xavier replies with a heavy sigh. “You haven’t developed mutant abilities. You have basic psychic powers, but they are unconsciously controlled. There is no more I can do.” He looks at Steve pityingly.

 _Fuck,_ Tony thinks, _I am not calling fucking Strange. I should get JARVIS to run a scan and see if he can read the energy levels in Steve’s–_

“Thank you for coming,” Steve says with a half-hearted smile, shaking Xavier’s hand  once more. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“It was no trouble,” Xavier says kindly. “My apologies. I wish I could be of more help.”  

Steve thanks him again and sees him out to the elevator. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to feel – upset, discouraged, bitter – but he’s sure it isn’t the selfish hopefulness at his chance to speak to Bucky again. Even if it’s only in a dream.

Tony joins Steve and claps a hand on his shoulder sympathetically, acting like _he’s_ the one who can read Steve’s thoughts.

“Sorry about that,” Tony says, “we’ll figure this out. Wanna come down to the lab? Maybe I’ll find something if I run some tests.”

_Or we could steal Magneto’s helmet, paint it blue, and slap an ‘A’ on it._

Steve looks sideways at Tony and frowns. “Yes to the first, no to the second.”

*

They’re sitting on the beach at Coney Island, the water lapping at their feet. The sun shines brightly down on them, but Steve doesn’t feel a burn. There are no distant sounds of calling seagulls, no screaming children, no laughter. He knows it’s a dream. It’s _gotta_ be.

It’s just him, Bucky, and a sand castle between them.

“What color banner will your castle wave, King Steve?” Bucky asks him, like they’re kids again. He looks up at Steve, but he’s as old as he was when Steve last saw him in person. His hair is longer, but his eyes are bright, his jaw shaved clean.

“Bucky,” Steve swallows, drinking in the sight of him.

“Come on, Steve, play the game,” Bucky says petulantly, like a child. “You’re the King, and I’m your brave knight. I need a banner to wave.”

“Bucky, it’s me,” Steve says. His voice feels thick and heavy, like he’s trying to speak through a mouthful of syrup.

“Of course it’s you,” Bucky huffs. “Come on, if you don’t tell me what color, I’m gonna pick green. I know you hate green.”

“No,” Steve sighs. “It’s _me,_ Bucky, it’s really me. This isn’t just a dream. I’m really here. Please, come back. Tell me where you are.”

Bucky stares at Steve for a long moment with dark, glassy eyes.

“I don’t like this game,” Bucky says simply, and vanishes.

Steve sits straight up in bed as he jolts awake.

*

_Zero point three eight nine five one one three four two, carry the eight—_

“Are you sure about this, Stark?” Steve asks from where he’s hooked up to a cluster of machines. Bruce and Tony look up from their computers and cast him distracted glances. He’s been alternating between his room and Tony and Bruce’s lab for the past few days, stuck in a game of mutual avoidance from most of his teammates. He doesn’t want to hear their thoughts any more than they want him to.

He misses company. Thankfully, Tony and Bruce are happy to let him listen in, as long as they’re studying him like a guinea pig.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Tony says, waving his hand absently. “Now,” he says, turning to Bruce, “if we can calculate the density of the –“

 _—Particulate concentration and track its decay, we can predict how long it will take to dissipate from the brain, but we’ll have to take samples,_ Bruce continues in his mind, nodding furiously when Tony cuts off mid-sentence to check something on his holographic display.

Tony thoughtfully taps his lip with a stylus as he skims a lab report. _Blood samples show no sign of energy, which means it’s purely psychic – fucking magic –_

“So, we’ll need to take readings over a time period,” Bruce hums thoughtfully.

“Do I have to be in the same room as you two while you do this?” Steve asks, somewhat rudely.

Both Tony and Bruce look at Steve over their displays, as if they’ve forgotten he was even there.

“You two finish each other’s sentences _in your minds_ ,” Steve supplies with a raised eyebrow.

 _Cool,_ Tony thinks, and holds up his hand for Bruce to hi-five.

*

 “Bucky, you’ve got to listen to me,” Steve gasps when Bucky slams him into a brick wall. He puts a knife to Steve’s throat.

“I’m not listening to you anymore,” Bucky grits out. “I won’t do it, I _won’t_. You can’t trick me again.”

“Bucky, you’re dreaming,” Steve says, even as he feels the pain of being slammed into a wall. “You’re asleep. No one’s trying to hurt you. It’s just me, Steve.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Bucky says, pressing the knife to Steve’s throat. It’s sharp, sharp enough to slice a thin line into Steve’s throat. He doesn’t dare swallow.

“It’s _me_ , Buck,” Steve whispers. “I’m not gonna make you do anything. I just want to talk to you.”

“Shut up,” Bucky growls.

“No,” Steve says firmly. “I need you to listen to me, Bucky. Please.”

Bucky catches his eye and holds his gaze. Steve stares into his eyes for a long moment before Bucky backs away, releasing his hold on Steve.

When Steve looks around, he doesn’t see much other than a dark alleyway, brick and blacktop, shadow and streetlight. It’s blurry around the edges, like Bucky hadn’t thought up a city beyond these walls.

When Bucky follows Steve’s gaze down the alleyway, a dark street grows before Steve’s eyes. It’s empty.

“Talk,” Bucky says suddenly, his head snapping back. He watches Steve carefully.

“Do you remember me?” Steve starts cautiously, because he doesn’t know what to _say._ It’s funny – he’s dreamed of what he’d do if he found Bucky, but now that they’re face-to-face, he has no idea what to say.

“I fought you. On the – on the helicarrier,” Bucky says, giving Steve a troubled look.

“You knew me before that,” Steve tries. “A long time ago.”

“That’s…not possible,” Bucky says, shaking his head.  

“Bucky,” Steve steps towards him. Bucky takes a startled step back. “We were friends,” Steve says quietly. “Steven Grant Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes. We were best friends. I’ve known you since we were kids.”

“You were a mission,” Bucky says tonelessly.

“I’ve told you before,” Steve says softly. “We were friends, once. We lived in Brooklyn. Remember our first apartment? There was a stain in the ceiling, you said it looked like a star. We got kicked out, ‘cause you—“

“Got caught necking with Suzy Morello, and her father threatened to knock my skull in,” Bucky finishes. He swallows, startled at the memory.

“See, Bucky?” Steve says. “Please, try to remember. For me.”

A car backfires, echoing down their alleyway and startling Bucky. Steve catches one last glimpse of Bucky before he opens his eyes to the darkness of his bedroom in Avengers Tower.

“Damn it,” Steve swears into his pillow.

*

“According to our readings, the psychic energy in your brain is dissipating. You’ve got about a week before it wears out,” Tony continues. He flips his tablet over to Steve to show him a few graphs and readings that Steve can’t understand.

Tony’s thoughts echo in Steve’s mind, A _nd one week before I can go back to thinking dirty, dirty thoughts about –_

“A week?” Steve asks, his brow furrowing. It’s not very long – it’s not long _enough._

“Give or take,” Tony shrugs. “As far as I can tell, Amora’s spell was meant to overload your mind and drive you insane. Instead, your super-soldier brain absorbed the psychic energy and converted it into usable energy instead. Efficient. Basically, she gave you temporary psychic powers.”

_And, hell yes, there is a scientific explanation to it. Suck on that, Strange._

“So, I have a week to find Bucky,” Steve says with a nod, distracted. He has so much to think about…to plan… “Thanks, Tony,” Steve mutters, clapping him on the shoulder.

“No problem,” Tony says awkwardly, cutting off his inner babble. He gives Steve a long look, watching him leave.

 _God,_ Tony thinks as Steve leaves the workshop, _he sure has got it bad._

*

When Steve fades into the next dream that night, he’s ready. He takes quick stock of his surroundings. His eyes scan the clouded landscape.

Bucky is nowhere to be seen.

For a long, tense moment, Steve wonders if maybe _he’s_ the one dreaming. He could be in anyone’s dream, really. He’s lucky that his mind has sought out Bucky’s these past few nights.

“Bucky?” Steve calls. With nowhere else to go, he moves forwards.

As he walks, he feels concrete beneath his feet. The air around him is misty and dark, filled with harsh smoke and dust. Steve sees a light at the edge of his vision. He doesn’t hesitate to follow it.

The light gets closer slowly, then all at once, revealing an open doorway. Yellow light spills out onto the wet street from what seems to be a London pub. Steve knows exactly where he is.

The pub is empty. It’s warm inside, though, the room lit by warm lamps, with cigarette smoke hanging heavily in the air. Music is playing, a low Billie Holiday song that crackles over the familiar speakers of a record player. Steve follows the sound through the pub and around to the bar, where he finds Bucky.

Bucky is dressed in his uniform, just as he was on the day Steve met him here and asked him to follow him into war. Bucky is dancing by himself, twirling around in the smoke-filled air as he kicks his heels around. He turns, and smiles widely when he spots Steve.

“Steve!” Bucky says cheerfully. “Care for a dance, soldier?” he jokes, grabbing Steve’s hand. Before Steve can protest, Bucky’s got a hand on his waist and is threading his fingers through Steve’s.

“Bucky,” Steve says breathlessly. Bucky twirls them around to the beat, pulling Steve close.

“Don’t ruin this,” Bucky breathes. “Don’t ruin this, please. I want this.”

“You remember me,” Steve murmurs. “You do.”

“’Course I remember you,” Bucky laughs, feigning ignorance, the sound a sharp edge in his voice.

“Bucky,” Steve says carefully. “You’re dreaming again. This is a dream. Remember what I told you, before? I’m really here.”

Bucky gives him a scrutinizing look. “Why should I believe you?” he asks. His fingers dig into Steve’s waist.

“I don’t know,” Steve sighs. “But I want to help you, Buck. I won’t lie to you. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you’re safe. I want you to come back to me.”

“I’d like to believe that,” Bucky says, stepping closer and pressing his forehead into Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t pull away, even though he knows he should. “That’s why you’re saying it. They always do. I just – I just,” he breaks off, screwing his eyes shut. “I just wanted a dance.”

“Then, we’ll just dance,” Steve sighs. “For now. As long as you’ll promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky says as he buries his face in Steve’s shirt. “Maybe.”

They slow dance until Steve opens his eyes the next morning and finds himself, sadly, alone in his own bed.

*

Steve corners Natasha outside a bakery he knows she likes, even though the chattering thoughts of New York give him a migraine. He tries to tune the voices out as best he can. Steve hasn’t seen Natasha around the Tower lately. Judging from the alarmed look she gives him when he stops her on the sidewalk, he knows why.

“If I were trying to get a message out to Bucky, so he could see it,” Steve asks her, “how would I go about it?”

Natasha chews on her lip for a moment, _Do your ears hang low do they wobble to and fro_ , before she smiles.

“Put a personal ad in the papers,” she says. “He’ll be checking them, if he hasn’t entirely shaken his programming yet. They used to put orders in there for sleeper agents who were stuck out in the field.”

_Can you tie ‘em in a knot can you tie ‘em in a bow?_

“Which papers?” Steve asks.

_Can you throw ‘em over your shoulder like a supersoldier?_

“All of them,” Natasha shrugs. With a final nod, she steps around Steve and into the doors of the bakery, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk.

_Do your ears hang low?_

*

_MALE 95, ISO old friend, M 96. Been dreaming: I’ll Be Seeing You. If you want._

*

Steve sleeps dreamlessly for four nights.

By the fifth, he feels desperation clawing at him from inside. His only chance to speak to Bucky is slipping through his fingers. Steve wonders what could be wrong – Is Bucky sleeping at different times? Is he sleeping at all? Is he hurt?

He tries sleeping more, but he can barely get the minimum amount he needs these days. Steve begins to wonder if it’s the dissipating psychic energy, and briefly entertains the idea of finding and provoking Amora to curse him again. He could even get Clint to knock him unconscious. He doesn’t have to, in the end.

Steve wakes up with a familiar ache in his back. He’s lying on three lumpy couch cushions, with a too-thin blanket pulled up to his chin. He opens his eyes slowly and finds Bucky a foot away, lying on his side on his tiny bed. Bucky looks even bigger in his childhood room –Stevehimself feels like he’ll break something if he moves.

Steve sits up quietly, just as he always had when he was trying not to wake Bucky, so many years ago. He realizes with a start that Bucky is already awake. He’s watching Steve quietly, never tearing his eyes away.

“So, I thought HYDRA might be on my tail again,” Bucky starts casually, eyes locked onto Steve’s. “I head to South America, keeping my head down, traveling at night. I take my first nap in two days, and I have a dream I’m being chased by giant purple cats across the surface of Mars.” A telltale smile tugs at a corner of Bucky’s mouth, but his stare still bores into Steve. “When I finally get some more shut eye, I dream that I’m late to Ms. Ingall’s eighth grade class – in my underwear. And you weren’t even there to laugh at me.”

“I think that really happened,” Steve says with a smile.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs. He seems to catch himself, though, because he freezes and looks down at the blanket on his bed. “So, then, I realize that my sleeping schedule changed when I flew over from Europe. We haven’t even been sleeping at the same time. No way for your magical dream travel to work – whatever that’s about, you never explained.”

"You’ve been thinking about this,” Steve says. “I – I got hit by some magic spell. Tony says it’s given me temporary psychic powers. I’d never believe it,” he shrugs, “but I’ve seen a lot of things I’d never believe.”

Bucky is still staring at Steve with careful, minute scrutiny. Steve swallows.

“I read about some fight with a witch in the newspaper the other week,” Bucky says. “I got your personal ad, by the way,” he sighs. “That was stupid – doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves that this is real,” Steve replies.

“Does it?” Bucky scoffs.

“Yes, it does,” Steve says stubbornly. “’I’ll Be Seeing You’ was playing when we danced – how would anyone else know that?” Bucky scoffs, shaking his head.

“You meant a lot more than just a song,” Bucky says. Steve feels the weight of his gaze as he gauges Steve’s reaction.

“I’ll admit it,” Steve shrugs. “Things have changed. Come back to New York, Bucky,” he says. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, and I want to help. You don’t have to do this alone – we can work this out together. You and me.”

Bucky swallows. His eyes fall from Steve and drift out the window. When Steve turns to see what he’s looking at, the skies are blue outside and the sun is shining. It’s a perfect day.

“I wish I could stay in this dream,” Bucky says quietly, so that Steve has to strain to hear him. “You and me.”

“We can’t,” Steve says, his chest aching. “I wish I could do that for you.”

Bucky turns back to look at Steve. “You would, too,” Bucky says, shaking his head in disbelief, an incredulous smile growing on his lips. “You really would.”

“’Course I would,” Steve says earnestly. Bucky laughs fondly.

“What if I told you I didn’t remember everything,” Bucky says slowly. “Just…pieces. Fragments. And that what’s left – isn’t good.” He looks right into Steve’s eyes. “ Would you still promise me the moon if you knew how many people I’ve killed?”

“I don’t care,” Steve says. He pulls himself up off Bucky’s couch cushions and sits beside him on the tiny bed. The springs give under his weight, tipping him towards Bucky. “You still deserve the moon.”

“I don’t.” Bucky’s eyes close as he bows his head.

“Bucky,” Steve says, reaching forwards to take Bucky’s hand between his and hold it tightly. “Meet me at Coney Island this Sunday. Underneath the Cyclone. I’ll come alone. This dream stuff isn’t going to last – I’ve only got a few days left. We’ll just talk. No strings attached.”

“Sounds like a trap to me,” Bucky replies. His eyes open.

“It’s not, I promise you, Buck,” Steve says firmly. “I’d never do that to you.”

“Of course it’s a trap,” Bucky sighs, tilting his head sideways at Steve. “If I see you again, there’s no way I’ll say no.”

Bucky’s fingers fade out of Steve’s grip as he awakens, his hands clutching at empty air.

*

Steve doesn’t dream of Bucky again. The psychic energy fades almost as quickly as it came, and, finally, Steve can emerge from his self-inflicted quarantine.

When Saturday comes, he spends most of his day standing around the Cyclone and regrets not giving Bucky a time for them to meet. He eats too many hot dogs and sticks of cotton candy, and ignores the suspicious looks he gets for hanging around.

He doesn’t see Bucky anywhere in the crowd, but that doesn’t mean anything. Bucky knows how to hide now. He could’ve stood in line and rode the damn rollercoaster five times by now without Steve noticing.

It begins to get dark, but still, Bucky is nowhere to be seen. Steve lingers as long as he can, until a security guard tells him the park is closing.

Steve throws his empty lemonade cup in an overflowing trash can and heads towards the park exit. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and tries not to be disappointed. He has no proof that the dreams were real, or that Bucky was truly getting them and remembering. He doesn’t blame Bucky for not trusting his dreams.

“Hey, man, you dropped this,” someone says, jogging up to Steve and handing him his wallet.

“Oh, thanks,” Steve says with a frown. “Didn’t even realize I –“

He stops in his tracks, because of course it’s _Bucky_ who’s standing there, smirking smugly to himself.

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky says. “Because I pick pocketed it from you like five hours ago. Come on, Steve. You need better situational awareness.”

“I was a little distracted,” Steve protests. “I had a date, you know, but he never showed up.”

“A _date_?” Bucky whistles. “Wow. I didn’t know you were going on a _date_.”

Steve feels his cheeks getting red. “You know, I’m not the one who dreamed—”

“I’m messing with you,” Bucky says flatly. In the silence, Steve takes a chance to get a good look at Bucky. He looks pale and thin under the street lamp. His hair is long, but he looks like he’s had a chance to wash and shave, at least. Steve’s throat tightens to finally see _Bucky_ standing in front of him on the sidewalk, eyeing him warily in the harsh fluorescent light.

“Bucky—“ Steve starts.

“So, where’s this Avengers Tower of yours?” Bucky drawls. “I’ve heard it’s pretty impressive. Do I get a tour, or do I have to stand out on the street like a tourist?” For a moment, Steve is speechless.

“Wow, _someone’s_ pushy,” Steve says. He inclines his head forwards in a silent question, to see if Bucky is comfortable with walking down the sidewalk with him. They can catch a taxi back to the Tower.

Bucky follows a step behind Steve. He tucks himself into the dark black hoodie he’s wearing, even though it isn’t that cold.

“I’m not the one that’s been pushing my way into other people’s dreams,” Bucky snorts.

“Well, you know me,” Steve smiles. “Had to find you somehow. And where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Bucky only meets his smile for a moment before he looks down at his shoes. Steve gives him time.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Bucky says, his voice a little muffled. “There might be a will, but I’m not sure where to go from here.”

“It’s alright,” Steve says, stopping Bucky with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”

It might be a spark of residual psychic energy, or maybe it’s something in the back of his mind, something that whispers, _Hold him_.

Steve steps forward and slowly wraps Bucky in a hug, holding him close. After a moment, Bucky’s arms open up, sliding around his waist and up his back. He buries his face in Steve’s shoulder. Steve presses a light kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. They have so many things to talk about, possibilities that Steve never imagined, but they also have time. Steve closes his eyes.

Bucky holds Steve tighter and whispers in his ear, “I’m so glad you’re real.”

_FIN._


End file.
